


Hate to See You All Alone

by marquis



Category: Lovely Little Losers
Genre: F/M, First Date, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4736402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marquis/pseuds/marquis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaquie gets stood up. Two knights in shining armor come to her rescue. Miraculously, they both show up at the same time. Everyone is confused, particularly the waiter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hate to See You All Alone

**Author's Note:**

> There's a post on Tumblr about getting stood up and some stranger coming to save the day, and at first I wanted it to be Costa saving Peter, but then there was Peter saving Costa, but then there was Jaquie.... and. Well. This happened. I am not sorry.

Jaquie is beginning to think she’s been stood up.

This is not, of course, due to the pitying looks of the couple sitting opposite her. It is not even because of the way the waiter keeps looking at her, like he’s hoping she’ll take the hint so someone else can have her table. It is not because she has finished an entire pitcher of water, either; that would be stupid.

She sort of has to pee, actually, but she’s afraid people will think she’s gone to cry or some shit and that is ridiculous and so far out of the realm of possibilities that she scoffs.

(The fact that it comes out as a sort of watery sniffle is neither here nor there.)

In fact, she is beginning to think that she has been stood up because her phone has been giving her the cold shoulder for the past half an hour. Her mystery woman has yet to show up, and neither Paige nor Chelsey seem to be capable of relaying her whereabouts.

Thus, there has either been a tragic accident involving all three of them or she has been stood up by a complete stranger and they’re busy on their own date. Which isn’t great. She would like to think that she’s at least capable of hiding her scary bits until at _least_ shaking hands with an individual.

Her waiter comes by for what must be the twentieth time.

“Are you absolutely certain I can’t interest you in an appetizer while you wait?” he asks, raising an eyebrow in a way that suggests he has had a better experience serving barnyard animals.

Jaquie smiles at him. “Listen, could you just check the bar for me one more time? She should be here by now. Tall, strawberry-blonde? Possibly looking very upset and confused?”

The waiter continues to look at her. His nametag says that he is Nick. He looks like a Nick. She hates that name. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m afraid no one fitting that description is at the bar currently.”

“Listen,” Jaquie says, and then – because she’s nice like that – adds, “Nick. If you check one more time for me, I will order every dessert I can afford when she is inevitably not there. Ask the bartender to call for Titania, just to be absolutely sure, and I’ll even get an entrée.”

“Excellent,” Nick responds. His tone implies that this is not, in fact, excellent, but rather slightly less than satisfying but much better than serving another pitcher of water. Jaquie knows the feeling.

It probably only takes about five minutes for him to come back and confirm that no, there is no Titania at the bar. Jaquie orders something with a lot of accents in the name and pointedly reminds Nick that the faster the food is served, the faster she’ll be out of his life. He seems to understand, running off to the kitchen without a second thought.

“Sorry about--”

“Is this seat--”

Jaquie looks up to find two bewildered people looking at each other in front of her table. One is dressed in a black button-up and black skinny jeans, mostly unremarkable. The other is wearing what can only be described as a costume; Jaquie is absolutely positive that no one wears pinstripes with polka dots in real life.

“Pardon?” she asks, looking between the two of them in bemusement.

“I’m sorry, are you Titania?” the one in the black questions. They look at Jaquie and point to the one in the stripes. “Is this the one I’ve been trying to track down for you my whole shift?”

The one in the pinstripes brightens. “Ah, Titania! I doubt that’s a real name, but if it were, I do wish it was mine.” Now they, too, turn to face Jaquie. “I was under the impression that you were dining alone. Is this your companion?”

She can practically feel her thoughts tying themselves into knots in an attempt to work this one out. “What, I – no? I’ve never seen either of you before in my life.”

“Perfect,” the one in the stripes says, “just as long as we’re all clear.” They pull out the empty chair opposite Jaquie and motion for the one in black to take a seat. “After you!”

The one in the black sits down slowly, looking just as uncertain as Jaquie feels. The third member of their strange party dashes off for a moment or two, returning with another chair in hand. They begin the process of setting themself a seat at the table, even going so far as to lean over to the neighboring couple.

“Excuse me, fellow patrons, pardon me for my interruption. Would either of you happen to have a spare napkin?”

When the woman hands them her napkin, brown furrowed, they grin and thank her before promptly whipping it out of its carefully folded triangle and spreading it out over their lap.

“Now,” they say, “where were we?”

“Um,” Jaquie answers.

“I…” her second companion starts.

They sit like that for a minute or two more before Nick is back, toting a plate full of what might be pasta but could be porridge. He does a double-take, nearly tripping over himself.

“Um.”

“That’s what I said!” Jaquie tells him, if only so she can break the silence. Pinstripes has been smiling at her in a way that is almost unnerving, despite the obvious attempt at making her comfortable. Black shirt is staring quite openly, view shifting from one person to the other every now and then as the gears turn in their head.

“Peter,” Nick continues. “Aren’t you on the clock, mate?”

Black shirt shakes their head. “Shift just ended.”

“And you’re. Here.” Nick seems to think about that for a moment. “But… you’re not a girl. Your name isn’t Titania.”

“I might be a girl,” the one that is possibly named Peter replies.

“Strawberry-blonde?” Nick prods.

“Picture is from a long time ago.” Peter looks to Jaquie for encouragement or validation, or something. She nods, although she’s pretty sure her face gives away just how much she does not understand about what’s going on.

Pinstripes, on the other hand, nods furiously. “And besides all that, my name might well be Titania.” They shakes a finger at Jaquie’s – all of their? – waiter. “Perhaps what you were looking for was a girl _and_ a Titania. You never did clarify that, I assume.”

Nick is confused. Jaquie pities him.

“Is that my food?” she asks, to remind him that certain things about the world are not as strange as the conversation he’s currently involved in. She then makes it much worse. “Peter and, um, _Titania_ , would you like to order something as well?”

Nick sets her food down and takes out his notepad. Peter and Titania order something without even looking at a menu. Jaquie is so far out of her depth here.

She takes a large bite of what is definitely porridge and then points her spoon accusingly.

“Peter. Bartender,” Jaquie guesses. They nod in affirmation. “Not a girl? I mean, you’re right, I suppose I don’t have any grounds to base that on. But Nick did seem confused. Just… what pronouns do you prefer?”

Black shirt nods at her and holds out a hand. “Peter Donaldson, he or his or him, student-slash-bartender, apparently one third of whatever the fuck is happening here. Thought you might like some company, is all. No fun being stood up. If you’d prefer a more traditionally feminine date, though, I’ve got some eyeliner and lipstick in my car, and I’m not attached to pronouns.”

Titania turns a truly lovely shade of pink.

Jaquie considers that for a moment. “Next time,” she decides, and shifts her spoon to the blushing bearer of interesting patterns. “I assume your name is not, in fact, Titania. Feel free to correct me.”

“Costa McClure, similarly identified. Actor, producer, and director for a local troupe. I thought this might have been a good opportunity for some improvisational exercises, although I daresay I’m pleased with the result we’ve gotten.” He tilts his head to the side, as if he’s considering something. “I don’t go around supporting the gender binary, though I do believe I have a few dresses in the basket of my bike if that would make you more comfortable.”

Peter chokes.

Jaquie has, quite serendipitously, stumbled upon two absolutely absurd people at the exact same time. She’s almost as delighted by that as she is by the dresses. “Remind me about that at a later date,” she tells him, grinning at Peter. Jaquie points the spoon at herself. “Jaquie Manders, self-proclaimed theatrical prodigy. Also studying classical literature, when I remember to be productive. Not exclusively interested in those of the feminine persuasion, but I’m not about to turn you away from your dreams. Or each other, if that’s how this goes.”

Costa’s eyes widen. “Are you suggesting that we’re going to have to _pick_ someone at the end of this?” he demands. “All for one, one for all, that’s what I say.”

Peter nods, and that’s apparently the end of that conversation as Nick returns to place more food on their table – and some silverware for Costa who, honest to goodness, _claps_.

“Right,” Nick says. He maybe runs away a little. Jaquie is delighted.

They keep quiet for what might be thirty seconds, each taking the time to at least pretend they’re eating food, before Costa seems to remember something and points accusingly at Jaquie.

“Theater prodigy,” he says.

Jaquie is frozen with a spoon halfway to her mouth. The porridge falls off and into the bowl with a _plop_. “Yes?” she chances.

They stare at each other for a bit before he arches an eyebrow, motioning for her to continue. Continue with _what_ , she isn’t sure.

“I think he wants you to monologue at us,” Peter offers. Costa snaps his fingers and points, little finger guns probably meant to convey something along the lines of _MVP: Peter Donaldson!_

“I, uh.” She shrugs around a mouthful of food. “I don’t have anything prepared?”

“Wouldn’t stop a proper prodigy, now would it?” Peter teases, grinning. Again, Costa points. It’s ridiculous enough to almost be cute. “Come on, show the director what you’ve got.”

She thinks back to her copy of _Doctor Faustus_ , sitting open on her bed back at the flat. It wasn’t ideal, of course, but she’d been studying it for years now and knew it well enough. Nodding and clearing her throat, Jaquie looks to each of them to make sure – they’ve each got their eyes trained on her, apparently very curious.

“Stand up now, darling, don’t go doing anything by halves,” Costa insists, fluttering his hands at her like a dog wags its tail.

In normal circumstances, Jaquie would reject that proposal immediately. Tonight she isn’t sure she’s exactly got anything to lose, though; the other diners have been judging her since she sat down, and the boys seem genuinely interested in what she’s about to show them. She won’t lose anything she hasn’t lost already, so she doesn’t hesitate. Pushing her chair away from the table, she stands up and takes a deep breath.

“Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the topless two towers of Ilium?,” she begins, ignoring the way heads are turning to watch her with equal parts outrage and curiosity. “Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss. Her lips suck forth my soul; see where it flies!” And there’s Nick, marching towards them with determination and a certain vindictive satisfaction. “Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again! Here will I dwell, for Heaven is in these lips, and all is dross that is not Helena.”

She grabs her purse from the back of the chair and nods at Nick. “Right. Disturbing other patrons. Got it. Should we leave the money on the table, or pay upfront?”

“Can we get boxes to go?” Costa chirps.

Peter is staring at Jaquie, mouth wide open. It’s a lovely feeling.


End file.
